Reunion
by Fic Me Up
Summary: Post 4x07 speculation fic. "Her heart beats thunderously beneath her chest, and she begins to trace the length of his hair, his nose, the curvature of his lips, and the hollow spot on his chin with her curious eyes... A mix of excitement, nervousness, and familiarity coils at the pit of her stomach, winding and unwinding with each breath she takes."


Her hands move in practiced motions, her right reaching over to grab the tape while the other holds the gauze in place. She zeroes in on the wound, quieting the part of her that won't stop worrying over him. He needs to be more careful.

After putting tape on the edges, Clarke inspects her handiwork to make sure it'll heal properly. She's still worried but mainly annoyed – he genuinely can't go a single day without hurting himself.

"It's just a scratch."

She knows he's grinning lopsidedly without her even looking, and sure enough, the corner of his mouth is lifted in what can be seen as Bellamy's first smile in weeks. It baffles her how he can take getting hurt so lightly, but there's a part of Clarke that knows he's just as exhausted and angry as she is. It hurts, having to carry the weight of the world. It will never get easier, but Clarke takes comfort in knowing Bellamy will be there, just as he always has.

"Yeah, well, it's a scratch you could've avoided."

He huffs under his breath but makes no move to leave. He sticks out like a sore thumb in this bedroom. Both of them do – all grimy, angry, and touched by evil. It's too pristine for them. Even back on the Ark, she slept on a cot with basic bedding. This bed – the entire house, in fact – is too luxurious.

There's a part of her that feels she doesn't deserve to stay here, even if it's to simply sleep. She's already experienced a lifetime of luxury. She grew on the right side of the Ark, didn't have to worry about food, or working when she was fourteen just to provide for her family. She doesn't need it, not anymore.

Taking a deep breath, Clarke steps away from Bellamy and points to the bathroom. "You can shower in there. Murphy probably left food in the fridge, so I'll warm it up for us."

He nods solemnly. "Thanks." Bellamy scans the entire room with a slight scowl on his lips. "I'm scared I'll make this place dirty."

Laughing, Clarke shakes her head before crossing her arms. "Feels weird, doesn't it?"

"Yeah."

An odd look crosses over Bellamy's face, and his eyes flicker up to hers, searching for something. Her stomach flips and flops for a moment, and she doesn't know what to make of the new sensation. She's not terribly close to him, but she can spot the freckles on his face, sprinkled out in imperfect harmony. And if Clarke leaned in a little further, she could see the tiny mole on his left collarbone, peeking through his war torn shirt.

She's spent a lot of time studying Bellamy – back at the dropship, she would study whether his facial expressions revealed his ulterior motives. Then after, she would look to see if his eyes flickered anywhere that might pose danger and follow his line of sight, trusting his instincts. And now, Clarke checks to see if he's forgiven himself, if he no longer views himself as a monster.

Clarke hasn't been able to determine if he has.

But she's a grown woman, and she can admit he will always be her favorite subject. She is able to study herself through him. If Bellamy is worried, then so should she. And if he is happy, she realizes she should be as well, because life is too fickle to never smile for days on end.

Clarke sees herself in him, and it scares her how much wants him to know that.

"I would really hate to be inside your head right now."

She thinks about replying with a sarcastic _Pretty sure you couldn't handle_ _it on a good day_ but instead she says, "No, I don't think you would."

* * *

The cold marble floors soothe her aching feet, and as she pads towards the room Clarke berates herself for leaving her gun in there. She shouldn't get too comfortable here because danger is ever present. The last time she was here a Grounder broke in and now he's become a lab rat. Needless to say, there's always a reason to keep her gun handy.

She barges into the room, forgetting to knock and realizing Bellamy was in the process of taking a shower. He's out of it now, but he's standing in the middle of the room completely shirtless, staring at his worn out shirt with disdain.

"Oh shi – sorry, I didn't –"

Her cheeks redden and the color deepens when she realizes she's actually _blushing_. She caught him in a private moment and she came in like this was a normal thing to do. It's one thing to see him half naked when he's working, another when he's tucked away in the privacy of a bedroom.

Averting her gaze, Clarke starts to turn away before Bellamy gently says, "It's okay."

"No, I'll –"

"It's fine. I was just wondering if I wanted to put this shirt back on since it's completely wrecked and filthy."

Relaxing marginally, Clarke smiles softly and points to the shirt. "Do you want to keep it?"

Bellamy lifts the shirt. "This?" He inspects it for a second then scowls. "It smells like a dead animal and looks like one, too."

Smiling once more, Clarke heads over to the wall with mirrors and pushes against it. The wall pushes forward and Clarke slides the closet door, revealing brand new clothes for men and women. Clarke's already taken a few pieces for her, Raven and her mother, but the clothes are a little too tight due to her large chest. Still, it's better than nothing and she suspects the men's shirts and pants will fit Bellamy.

"Becca must've thought she was going to have some company."

Bellamy snorts and she finds herself chuckling alongside him, though she knows her comment wasn't as funny as they're making it out to be.

"You've been hiding this for how long?"

She frowns and feels the need to defend herself. "I haven't been hiding it . . ."

"I didn't – It was a joke, Clarke."

"Oh."

She feels stupid for not realizing it and glances towards the floor, biting her lip as she does so. He must sense her awkwardness because he quietly asks, "Hey, why don't you pick something out for me?"

Grateful for the distraction, Clarke immediately picks out the shirt nearest to her and takes it out of the closet. Removing the hanger, Clarke puts it back in the closet and hands him the shirt. It's soft, gray, and smells like nothing, but she has no doubt in a day's time it'll smell like water, grass, and motor oil.

"Just the way you like it."

Bellamy stares at it then grins, and her heart skips a beat. "I guess it's better than the regular black I always wear."

"I don't mind the black," she confesses, and is startled by how easily it came out.

They've gotten closer now, unaware of how they gravitated towards each other. They do it often – leaning into each other without realizing it, though Clarke suspects on a subconscious level they know they need this closeness. She doesn't feel uncomfortable. It's feels, strangely, normal – they've gone through so much together, seen each other at their worst and best, that this proximity doesn't scare her. Clarke forgets how easy it is to feel at home with Bellamy, because no matter what happens he welcomes her like she never left.

Her heart beats thunderously beneath her chest, and she begins to trace the length of his hair, his nose, the curvature of his lips, and the hollow spot on his chin with her curious eyes. His Adam's apple bobs and Clarke wonders if he's feeling this too, this strange, exhilarating sensation she's feeling now. A mix of excitement, nervousness, and familiarity coils at the pit of her stomach, winding and unwinding with each breath she takes.

She doesn't want this moment to end because it feels too serious, too important. But she doesn't know how to act because she's unsure of what she _wants_. It's too overwhelming to pick her feelings apart – her rational mind like to talks her out of things, and the emotional part of her still wants to be sad about Lexa. But she can't. She _won't_.

The ache Clarke would feel whenever she thought about Lexa would physically hurt her – her chest would tighten, her throat would close up, and she would have to breathe in and out for several seconds before she could see in front of her again. But now, the ache is replaced by bittersweet nostalgia, of what could've been. Clarke looks back on what they had – it was tumultuous and there was no right time for them – and she doesn't regret it.

But things have to change and Clarke wants to move on. It's tiring to think about the past so often, and all she wants is a partner she can trust. Someone who understands her more than she understands herself. Someone who is so selfless that they'll do whatever it takes to swallow her pain, just so she doesn't have to live another day with such sadness.

And, she thinks, perhaps Bellamy wants to move on, too.

The shirt drops to the floor and lands softly on the plush carpet. The silence is thick and palpable, and she finally gathers the courage to look at Bellamy. His eyes have widened but they're softer now, watching her carefully. She can smell him – the _real_ Bellamy – mixed in with a hint of fresh soap. From this distance she can spot every freckle, every pore, and a hint of a beard forming on his jawline.

This isn't the first time Clarke's viewed him this way, but she never allowed herself to get carried away due to fear of losing him, and assuming it wasn't in her place to do so. But seeing that Bellamy hasn't run away yet let's her know she's not the only one who's thought of the other this way before.

She doesn't know who moves first, but just as she reaches for his hand, Bellamy's left hand gently grabs a hold of her arm, his calloused fingers creating goose bumps on her skin. Her breath catches in her throat and she nearly jumps at the sensation. They've touched plenty of times – from touches of safety, concern and to goodbye kisses. But this . . . this is different.

They move in sync like they always do, and their fingertips skim over each other's skin with a slowness that can only be described as exploratory. It feels like she's been doing this for a long time, and the excitement is still there several years later. Her hands continue to mark a path up his arms, then to his collarbone, neck, and settling on the sides of his face. Bellamy's hands are hot and rough, almost claiming in the way they move around her waist and lower back.

He's much taller than she is but she likes it. She likes being surrounded by Bellamy, covered in his shadow. For a moment Clarke doesn't have to pretend to be _Wanheda_ or anyone else – just Clarke. Just a woman wanting to kiss a man.

She can feel the heat emanating off of him, and she has an overwhelming desire to run her hand possessively down his chest, to feel the hard muscle she's admired for a long time. In this moment, Clarke has Bellamy all to herself and she feels privileged to be here with him in this way. They're so alike in many ways – always searching for redemption, scared to open up, haunted by their past and future. To see Bellamy so vulnerable lets her know he trusts her more than anyone else, and she promises to cherish that forever.

Finally looking up at him, Clarke takes the initiative and leans forward, her eyes closing and pressing her lips against his. She is nervous and there's an influx of adrenaline coursing through her veins; she doesn't doubt Bellamy can hear her heart pounding in her chest.

His lips are slightly chapped and he's completely motionless for a solid three seconds, and Clarke's skin begins to burn in rejection. She's already plotting how to leave this situation are graceful as she can when Bellamy surges forward, kissing her with such ferocity she wonders if he's thought about this, too. Kissing her.

She's pressed up all against him, her soft curves molding into the hard lines of his body. The kisses are chaste but there's a heat underneath it all that's begging to be let out. Bellamy's tongue flicks out, an invitation, and her mouth immediately opens up at the request. She makes a small noise when his tongue curls around hers, and has a ridiculous notion to cry out from all the emotions she's feeling.

One minute they're being respectful of one another, the next they become possessed and let themselves go. Clarke's wrapped one hand on the nape of his neck while the other goes down to his chest, and Bellamy holds her tight, his own hands moving disjointedly all over her body. He stays away from touching her breasts and she doesn't move further than his sternum, but God she _wants_ to.

The kiss turns passionate and is slightly sloppy, as if they know there's only so much time before reality sinks in. The air is filled with breathy little noises, a slight moan here and there, and a quick hum of approval from Bellamy. Clarke can barely breathe but in this moment she could care less. She is dizzy and all over him, and it's the best she's felt in ages.

There's a moment where they realize this could quickly spiral out of control, and Clarke is thankful for Bellamy for not pushing it further. It doesn't feel right as of now. Maybe one day. Instead, she wants to curl up on the bed with him, and touch him softly so she can memorize what he really looks like.

Bellamy slowly pulls back, first leaving her lips, letting go his hand that's wrapped around the nape of her neck and jaw, before dragging his hands down her waist and stepping back. He's breathing harshly and his lips are swollen. His eyes are pitch black and she swears she can see a hint of a flush creeping up on his chest. Clarke's stomach clenches in desire and she's scared of how a kiss can make her feel this way.

But this wasn't any other kiss – it was something much more.

It feels a little awkward now, with both of the breathing loudly and standing there without having a clue what to do next. Clarke wonders if she should say something but it gets stuck in her throat, for once in her life speechless.

"I have to go back."

His voice is husky and still laced with desire, and _God_ , Clarke wants to kiss him all over again.

"Okay," she croaks.

Bellamy bends to retrieve his shirt and quickly puts it on; Clarke is disappointed he has to wear a shirt now. A hint of panic hits Clarke, and she worries this may be the last time she'll see him. She almost makes a move to grab his arm and lock him up in the bedroom, when Bellamy steps back and looks at her like it's back to business as usual.

"You should come with me."

"I can't – my mom needs help in the lab." Which is partly true. But mainly, Clarke doesn't want to go back there knowing everyone hates her and think she's always trying to play God. At least in the lab, Clarke isn't entirely shamed for making tough decisions, because they need to find a cure and God abandoned them a long time ago.

It's possible Bellamy can see through her lie, but if he does he doesn't show it. Instead he nods solemnly, and gathers his gun belt left on the bed. There's no sound except for the jingle of Bellamy's belt, and when it clicks into place Clarke snaps out of her daze.

She doesn't want him to leave. Sometimes she hates how reality tears apart all the good things in their life, but he is here, _alive_ , and for that she is forever grateful.

"I – Will you come back?"

Her voice breaks and she hates how weak she sounds. But . . . Clarke needs Bellamy more than ever. He's the only one who can fill up the hole of emptiness in her soul, and Clarke's so sure of the fact that it throws her off.

Time stops – Bellamy eyes her carefully and something flickers in his eyes. It looks a bit like hesitation, but the look is easily wiped away when he slowly steps towards Clarke. His jaw clenches in concentration, and his hand slowly rises up to her cheek, his thumb softly touching her in a move so affectionate she can't _think._

"Yeah, I will."

* * *

It's been a couple of days since Clarke's seen Bellamy, but she's been unnaturally busy at the lab, though that hasn't stopped her from thinking of the kiss. She hasn't been able to talk to him, of course, but she keeps replaying the kiss on repeat whenever she has the chance. Her mother has caught her spacing out in more than one occasion, her inquisitive stare making Clarke blush.

Clarke has been kissed before, but this . . . She strangely feels at home with Bellamy. She doesn't feel guilty like she does with Niylah, lustful with Finn, or cautious with Lexa. She feels excited, nervous, and hopeful. All words Clarke didn't ever think she would use in her life anytime soon.

She's back in the white house again, although Murphy and Emori are here too, doing God knows what. As of late Clarke's been feeling more tired than normal, and she hates how often she retires to bed. Her mother and Raven have been working nonstop on finding a way to survive – they need more rest than she does.

Regardless, it's nice to sleep in a comfy bed with feathered pillows, not hear constant drilling, and not wonder if the strange ticking sound is in her head or a countdown clock for a bomb left in her room. Clarke begins to doze off in the comfort of the room, but she's not prepared to hear slow and heavy footsteps echo in the hallway.

Fear courses through her veins – she didn't hear anyone come in, and as far as she knows Murphy isn't in the kitchen to watch who comes and goes.

Jumping out of the bed, Clarke grabs her gun off the nightstand and holds it steady, waiting for the intruder to step in. She curses to herself, because _of course_ another intruder would come in while she's about to fall asleep. Clarke's annoyed and royally pissed off – whoever decides to come through that door won't know what hit them.

As the shadow looms closer Clarke can make out a faint outline of a messy head of hair, and she immediately knows it's Bellamy. But past experience has taught her to be cautious, so she continues to hold the gun up until the person comes in view. Thankfully it is him.

"Jesus Christ, Bellamy."

Relieved, Clarke puts the gun away and is prepared to chastise him for creeping up on her like that, but she can tell something is off. He's grimy, sweaty and clearly exhausted. Half of his body is covered in darkness, but Clarke can see from a mile away his body is thrumming with energy. Yet, Bellamy is leaning against the doorframe as if he's having a casual conversation with her, and the juxtaposition of his stance worries her.

"Is something wrong?"

It comes out in a whisper – Clarke doesn't know why. Maybe it has to do with how Bellamy's acting, because she knows one wrong word and he'll shut down. Or maybe it's because she can see he's hurting, and she wants him to know she's there for him.

He doesn't say a word. Instead, Bellamy keeps a trained eye on Clarke as he takes off his boots and socks, shoving them away and slowly stepping into the bedroom. There's almost a predatory quality to the way Bellamy's staring at her, and she would be lying if she said it didn't excite her. But Clarke is also worried because something is clearly bothering him and he won't say why.

Bellamy's steps are heavy and his shoulders are sagging from the weight of the world, but his face tells another story – lips are pursed in a thin line, eyes have hardened, and as usual his jaw clenches and unclenches with each step he takes. Clarke quickly surveys Bellamy and sees no blood on him, but she spots a large bruise forming on his left bicep. Something happened – perhaps with the Grounders or with one of their own, but whatever it is, it has affected Bellamy in more ways than one.

He continues to stare at her as he drops his jacket somewhere on the carpet and unbuckles his gun belt. It lands with a _thud_ on the floor, and Clarke's heart beats wildly as Bellamy steps closer to her. She doesn't know what to make of _this_ Bellamy, but she is certainly curious about the new development.

Her breath catches in her throat when he's finally right in front of her, his head bent in concentration as his fingertips graze the hem of her shirt. He is hot and smells of sweat with a hint of metal, but his touch is as shy as a bird's feather. Goosebumps erupt all over her skin and she shivers, though Bellamy doesn't seem to notice. He continues to toy with her shirt before slowly bringing up his gaze to her.

Whatever was bothering Bellamy seems to have buried itself deep within him, because now he's looking at her with pure longing. A shot of desire hits her – her stomach clenches in anticipation and nervousness, and she can feel herself wanting to let go, just this once.

"I need you."

 _I need you._

From the way Bellamy struggled to say the words Clarke can tell this is . . . different. Bellamy doesn't need her to cover for him, or stay by his side while they're trying to save the world. He doesn't need her to carry something, or to go on a supply run.

He needs _her._

He needs her in the most carnal, intimate way, and she's struck by the sincerity of his confession. Maybe Bellamy needs her to forget about what happened. Or maybe, to finally stop bullshitting and admit what _this_ is between them.

And perhaps Clarke needs Bellamy in the same way, too.

"I'm right here."

They gaze into one another, not at all shy about the sudden shift in their partnership. There's no need for a basket of bread or declarations – they are uniquely _them_ and nothing else can hold a candle to it.

Bellamy's hands twist the fabric of Clarke's shirt, yanking her towards him just as his lips crash into hers. Clarke lets out a gasp, unaware of how much energy and tension there is between them. There's a hunger behind his kisses and Clarke does her best to soothe it. Bellamy's hands leave her shirt and move underneath it, his hot palms tightly holding onto her hips like she's the only thing left standing in the world.

Clarke wraps her arms around Bellamy's shoulders, pressing her body against his and wanting to feel every inch of him. She's already hot and adrenaline courses through her veins, and the anticipation of what's going to happen next spurs her on.

Flicking out her tongue, she runs it over his lower lip and Bellamy immediately acquiesces, his tongue thrusting in and out of her, as if he's mimicking what he intends to do with her. She moans and she pushes herself into him, feeling a hardness that hadn't been there before. It makes her feel strangely powerful – _Clarke_ did this to him.

Bellamy's hands are under her shirt and he takes a step forward, no doubt leading her to the bed. Pulling away from her, he takes her shirt and lifts it up, and Clarke does her part by removing the fabric herself. She's breathing harshly and despite her half-naked state, she can't stop herself from unabashedly staring at Bellamy.

His eyes are dark, cheeks flushed, and lips swollen by their enthusiastic kissing. Clarke can't recall anyone else looking at her the way he is right now; she wonders how she's gone this long without being with Bellamy in this way.

 _Okay,_ she thinks. _Okay._

Still keeping a trained eye on him, Clarke grabs fistfuls of his shirt – the same shirt she gave him a couple of days ago – and lifts it up, watching Bellamy's muscles move as he removes the rest of it. Just as the shirt clears his body, Clarke runs her hands over his chest, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest as he takes each breath. The bruise she spotted before is larger than she anticipated, and she wants nothing more than to make it better. Without warning, Clarke presses a gentle kiss there, unsure of where she got the courage to do that.

It seems Bellamy can't handle the intimacy of it because he grabs her face and kisses her deeply. He gives a low moan, the sound vibrating against her and Clarke can't prevent herself from humming in approval. Her hands mark a path on his body, from his neck to his chest, and her fingers softly graze his nipples. Bellamy immediately moans and his hips snap forward, grinding into her stomach.

"God," Clarke breathes out. Bellamy doesn't say a word and instead moves straight to her neck, kissing any part of skin he can find. She gulps in large amounts of air and it embarrasses her how loud she is. But Bellamy doesn't seem to mind, and he does a good job of making her forget basic things like breathing.

Her hands travel down to his belt as he takes another step forward, undoing it without any finesse whatsoever. He is the second man she's been with – Clarke doesn't have much practice and she hopes it doesn't make things awkward. Bellamy lets her take her time as his hands grab onto her hair, slowly and gently massaging her scalp until they land on her neck. Once she unbuckles it and unzips his pants, Bellamy's fingers deftly unhook her bra, but he doesn't remove it.

There's a pregnant pause and Clarke watches Bellamy with rapt attention. His eyes are glued to hers, hesitant, and she understands now that he wants her permission. Clarke wonders why Bellamy is hesitating when she's spent this whole time opening up to him in a way she hasn't done before, but she can see why he's acting this way. They have a habit of getting so close before something – or someone – tears them apart. More often than not it's Clarke herself, and she wants to make up for all the times she's hurt him.

Still staring at him, Clarke slowly pulls the straps down, and she doesn't fail to notice Bellamy looking right at her breasts like a man starved. Swallowing thickly, she takes off her bra and drops it to the side even though she wants to cover herself up. But the whole point of this is to show Bellamy she wants him, and she's not going to back down now.

His eyes snap up to hers and they're not longer haunted, but rather, soft and yearning. Clarke is starting to feel a little embarrassed but Bellamy bends and gently kisses her one, two times. She's starting to relax when Bellamy quickly pulls back and his hands begin to knead her breasts. Clarke glances up to the ceiling as she attempts to breathe normally, but she's not prepared to feel Bellamy's mouth clamp over her nipple.

He's not the first person to do so, but the ferocity of how he does it is certainly new to her. His tongue moves in angry swirls, sucking and licking the skin there, and Clarke can't restrain a wanton moan escaping her lips. In response, Bellamy lightly nips her and she gasps at the sensation. He quickly moves onto the other breast while his left hand tweaks and rubs her nipple that was just ravaged by his mouth. The other hand moves down to her backside, kneading it the same way his hand is, and his mouth continues to attack her nipple with no hesitation.

She wants to tell him to stop the foreplay because it's too much for her. She's dizzy and doesn't know what to do with herself, but _God,_ this feels too good to stop.

Grabbing a fistful of his hair, Clarke tugs his head up and kisses him hotly, her tongue swirling around his without restraint. Bellamy hums and begins to walk forward once more, Clarke following his lead. She feels the bed hit the back of her knees and she pulls back, bending to undo her pants. Bellamy does the same and once they finish, Clarke gazes into him, trying to communicate how much this moment means to her. That she's not here to hurt him, she's here because she wants to make him feel better – both of them.

Sitting on the bed, Clarke leans back just as Bellamy leans forward to kiss her, both of them slowly collapsing on the plush bed. Their legs dangle off the bed, so Clarke pulls away and begins to straighten herself, lying down softly on the pillows. Bellamy follows suit and immediately covers her with his body, and wraps himself around her so tight she can't breathe.

They continue kissing before Bellamy pulls away and peppers kisses on her neck, sternum, stomach – she squirms, unaware of how ticklish she is, and Bellamy gives her a wolfish grin – before hooking his fingers around her underwear and slowly pulling them down. Clarke swallows, unsure if Bellamy is doing this because he thinks she wants it or because he wants to do this for her. She isn't going to complain, though, but she's nervous all over again. _Her_ naked self is so very close to _his_ that it sends her to a tailspin. They're really doing this.

He has the gall to stare at her once her underwear clears her body, and Clarke resists the urge to primly shut her legs. She's embarrassingly wet but she can tell it's going to be different with Bellamy. When Lexa did this with her, it was slightly rushed and there wasn't much time for exploring. With Nilyah, it's usually a game of who can break first, but with Bellamy it's like he's worshipping her. Like he wants to conquer every inch of her body no matter how long it takes.

Taking one last look at Clarke – eyes pitch black, mouth hanging open in preparation of what's to come next – Bellamy dips his head and runs his tongue along her slit.

"So fucking hot," he rasps, and Clarke can't stop herself from hissing. His voice sounds like pure sex and Clarke wants to hear it over and over again.

Bellamy gathers her legs before placing them over his broad shoulders. One hand is firmly placed on her thigh while the other teases her folds, and Clarke takes this time to fully relax and let Bellamy worship her the way he wants to.

His rough and calloused fingers create new sensations, and it is one of the loveliest feelings she can recall. Bellamy sucks and laves as he completely immerses himself with her. Sucking gently on her clit, Clarke can't stop herself from bucking and moaning, her head twisting to the side at the onslaught of pleasure.

"Fuck," she whispers, because he's made her into a blubbering mess and it's all she can say at the moment.

He does it once more before sliding one finger into her, and her breath catches in her throat. It feels different but in a good way – his finger is naturally longer than what she's been exposed to, and it feels heavenly. Sensing her enjoyment, Bellamy immediately pumps another finger in her, curving his fingers to hit her in the right spot.

Clarke tugs on his hair in hopes of getting a chance to kiss him, but he won't budge. Instead, she rubs and pinches her nipples and focuses on Bellamy doing absolutely sinful things to her. She's practically fucking his hands now and doesn't care about being loud or moaning wantonly. It feels to good for words, too good for anything.

She's dangerously close when Bellamy pulls back and slows down, stilling for several seconds. Lifting her head, she sees him staring at her with a half-hooded gaze, his mouth shining and she gets wetter just by looking at him. Groaning lowly, Clarke lies back on the pillow when Bellamy starts the slow torture once more, though Clarke is at a point where she just _wants_ him now.

A sheen of sweat is beginning to form on her chest, and she can feel a new layer on her forehead. Clamping her legs around Bellamy, Clarke senses an impending orgasm and she can tell it'll be a powerful one – her womb begins to tighten, her legs tense up, and she can't stop herself from bucking, especially when Bellamy sucks on her clit. But once again, he slows down to a maddening pace before removing his mouth and fingers from her altogether. She's briefly annoyed he didn't let her come, but she would rather break apart with him inside her – it seems he has the same idea, too.

Stepping back, Bellamy stands up remove his boxers and Clarke's eyes immediately land on his cock. It looks positively painful right now – he's so hard she wonders why he decided to wait so long. He's a decent size and a shot of desire hits her once she realizes _this is it._

She flushes once Bellamy catches staring at her, a tiny smirk forming on his lips. She flushes more when Bellamy wipes his mouth with his hand and puts his fingers in his mouth, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks every last drop of her. Clarke groans – this shouldn't turn her on as much as it is, but it _does,_ and she can add this to the list of things she enjoys watching Bellamy do.

He releases his fingers with a pop, then pumps himself a couple of times while Clarke watches with rapt attention. Bellamy's mouth hangs open as he breathes harshly, intently looking at her without any reservation. Her heart does a strange pitter-patter and she unconsciously licks her lips before quickly running her fingers down her sex, unaware of how it would affect him – he groans lowly before leaning forward and climbing on top of her.

Excitement and nervousness begins to take a hold of her, but her heart feels heavy, too. This isn't a quick hookup for her and she hopes it isn't for Bellamy either. It means so much more to her – she wants a future with him. She wants to be by his side and him by hers. Clarke can't imagine the end of the world without him and he needs to know that.

She wants to say something, but as Bellamy's face comes into view all words are lost and she can only stare at him, hoping to convey how much he means to her. Bellamy's skin is flushed and some pieces of his hair is stuck on his face, and the way he's looking at her is the complete opposite of how he was acting when he first entered the bedroom.

 _Good,_ Clarke thinks, _because I want you and tonight we'll ease our pain away._

They kiss sweetly when Bellamy breaks it off, his eyes searching and carefully watching her. He's giving her another moment to back out but there's no way in hell she will. She _wants_ him and he has to know that.

Giving him a quick nod, Bellamy positions himself as Clarke wraps her arms around him. He is slow to enter, letting her adjust to him, and she wonders if he was always this attentive to her or if it's only this moment – in her heart Clarke knows it's the former, and it's another reason why she can't live without Bellamy by her side.

They both moan once Bellamy is buried deep within her, and he fills her up in all the ways she never thought possible. He's propped himself on his forearms but Clarke doesn't like the distance – she slowly wraps her legs around his waist, wanting to feel every inch of him, and tugs his hair to kiss him again. Bellamy obliges, kissing her deeply before almost pulling out entirely, then slowly thrusting into her again.

He sets a leisurely pace, pressing up against her and touching her any way he can, kissing her neck and trying to memorize the spots that make her moan in pleasure. Clarke's already a bundle of energy after being so close twice now, but she wants to savor each minute with him. There's always a possibility of them never seeing each other again, and she doesn't want to regret any moment she's spent with him.

She watches, fascinated, at how his muscles contract, the way his back moves, and the deep look of concentration on his face. Clarke enjoys this, being under Bellamy's protection but in a different sort of way. Her hands move disjointedly around his body, from his hair to his neck, around his back and down to his arms. He increases his speed and they find a rhythm they both like, moaning in unison. When Bellamy brings his fingers down to her clit, Clarke isn't prepared for the wave of pleasure that hits her.

Kissing the spot where his neck meets his shoulder, Clarke can only lean her head back on the pillows once Bellamy continues to rub her clit, building a low fire within her. She moans loudly as she's completely overtaken by the stimulation – it's too much for her to handle. She's _so_ close and she suspects Bellamy is too, considering how he increases his speed once more.

The room is filled with a symphony of moans, skin slapping against each other, and the bed squeaking under their weight. She's only aware of Bellamy and how amazing she feels – there's nothing in this world that could make her stop in this moment. The heat increases with each thrust and Clarke's unable think coherently; all she wants is to let go with Bellamy.

"I wanna feel you come around me, Clarke," Bellamy rasps. She manages to open her eyes and she's not prepared for how he looks – hair all mussed up, his lips swollen, face flushed and sweaty. He is so beautiful.

"I . . . I just –"

God, she's literally _right_ there, and Bellamy seems to have read her mind because sets a fervent pace while continuing to tease her clit, doing all he can to give her the best orgasm she's had. She feels it coming – her legs tense up once more, holding Bellamy so tight that he can't move, and her breath catches in her throat while her womb clenches so hard Clarke's afraid she won't be able to walk after. Then she is gone, unaware of anything but the continuous waves of pleasure overtaking her.

Black and white dots dance around her vision and she's briefly aware of Bellamy coming too, a loud groan emanating from his lips as his hips still, then shaking in the aftermath. He's a dead weight against her, collapsing on top of her as they struggle to control their breathing.

They stay that way for a solid minute, wrapped up in each other as if there's no one else in the world but them. And in this moment, there isn't a single soul in the whole universe that can hurt them.

* * *

Clarke's lying on her back while Bellamy's propped on his side, gently touching her with the pads of his fingers. They haven't talked much and instead study one another, trying to memorize each other and burning them to memory before the radiation does it for them.

She hasn't felt this content in a long time, but there's a sense of dread, too. Who knows if they'll have a chance to do this again? Her heart begins to beat nervously and a dangerous thought comes to her mind, one she hasn't dared to say out loud ever since she first landed on earth. But it feels like the right thing to say in this moment, and gathering whatever courage she has, Clarke keeps a steady gaze on Bellamy.

"Let's stay here. Forever. You, me, and no one else."

A beat, then "It's not who we are."

Clarke sighs because he's right. "I know."

She's feeling disappointed even though she knew they wouldn't – couldn't – leave everyone like that. They care too much and sometimes they are their own worst enemy.

But she can imagine this – a simple future with Bellamy, quietly tucked away in the privacy of their bedroom. She wants it so bad her chest aches, but it hurts more knowing that will never be their fate. They're destined to toil away in hopes of saving the universe, and perhaps saving themselves in the process.

Bellamy suddenly shift and lies on his side, staring at Clarke with intense concentration.

"Remember when we went to the depot together? And . . ." His breath catches in his throat while Clarke looks away – it was a difficult day for both of them.

When she glances back at Bellamy, his eyes are shining though he seems determined. "And in the end, you said you needed me."

She remembers it like it was yesterday, and instead of Clarke begging to leave the world behind, it was Bellamy asking her. She promised him she would stay by his side, and although _they_ have broken it in more ways than one, she vows to never do it again. Without Bellamy she can't function, she can't lead. She needs him.

" _I_ need you. We can do this, Clarke. And if it doesn't work, at least . . . at least we'll know we did it together."

Together. The word never used to bring her comfort – it annoyed her to share her thoughts, workload, or anything with anyone else. Together meant complications. Together meant things not happening the way she wanted them to, and folding under pressure every single time. Together meant shouldering everyone's burden by herself, because it's what she does best.

But it doesn't have to be that way.

Together, she and Bellamy can save the human race. Together, they can make up for the countess deaths on their hands. Together, they can soak in what it truly means to be in love. Together, they can shelter everyone and themselves from the upcoming storm. Together, they can rebuild.

Taking one long look at Bellamy, she reaches forward to grab his hand, intertwining her fingers with his. She squeezes and he does it in return, reassuring her everything will be all right.

And together they will rise.

* * *

 _A/N: Guys... It's been 4 years since I've updated a fic on here! Yikes. But anyway, I hope you liked it. Let me know what you think!_


End file.
